


hope smiles from the threshold

by alchemystique



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 22:21:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5515436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alchemystique/pseuds/alchemystique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"we keep meeting" new years au - Emma is nineteen, stranded in a 24 hour diner with a squalling baby and a group of loud plebes who for some reason decided to celebrate New Years Eve eating greasy food and drinking from flasks. This is not how she wanted her night to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hope smiles from the threshold

**Author's Note:**

> “Hope  
> Smiles from the threshold of the year to come,   
> Whispering 'it will be happier'...” - Alfred Lord Tennyson

December 31st 2005

The diner is open 24 hours, so she scrounges together the last of the change rattling around in the console and buys an order of onion rings and a hot chocolate, and hopes for the best.

It’s the coldest night of the year so far, and for once she wishes she’d stayed in Arizona - she’s low on gas, with no money to speak of, and Maryland is frozen over.

The girl behind the counter keeps darting glances at Emma, and though Emma knows they have to be close to the same age, she feels ancient staring back at the girl with bright blue eye shadow set to match her neon blue hair and nails. 

Henry fusses in his blankets beside her, and Emma feels the dread that always comes with the understanding that most normal people are completely ready to kick out a teenager with a squalling baby in her arms. She smooths a hand over his forehead, fingers moving to cradle his head for a moment in a gesture that is overwhelmingly familiar to her, sending a pang of strange longing through her as he seems to calm, for the moment. 

She’s sipping her cocoa and pretending to read the paper someone had left at her table earlier in the night when the bell over the door chimes and a crowd of young men stumble in, laughing and yelling at each other as they make their way towards the empty booths tucked into the opposite corner.

Henry whines, and she hums something low under her breath, attempting to sooth him. 

The men settle themselves into three of the booths, still shouting raucously as they toss off coats and hats and scarves and gloves, and the girl behind the counter eyes them with a mixture of disdain and curious interest.

Henry’s eyes blink open, and Emma feels her heart drop into her stomach. They’re the only other people in the diner, but when Henry gets going it’s like his lungs have expanded to the size of a cruise ship. It’s not snowing, any longer, but when she turns her face to stare out at the bug sitting forlornly under the lone light in the parking lot, her breath fogs up the glass. She can’t take him back out there. 

The girl behind the counter finally slides around the bar to hand out menus and take orders, but the men don’t get any quieter, and Emma waits while tension spreads along her shoulders and Henry’s tiny fists emerge from the depths of his blanket.

“Oh, baby, please...” 

But there’s too much desperation in her voice, a worry Henry senses, and a moment later his cries begin to rattle against her ears. She reaches for him, careful not to disturb the burrito wrap of the blankets as she pulls him to her chest, but he’s obviously feeling whatever it is she’s feeling, and that topped with the sound of the loud shouting across the diner makes for a very upset baby.

She can feel the heat rising in her cheeks as she rocks gently up and down, trying to calm him - but she’s shit at it, she always has been, and she doesn’t have any clue how to do this. She can barely afford to keep him in diapers and formula, she can’t hold down a job, she lives in her car, and she doesn’t know how to do this.

Henry lets out an especially loud screech, and Emma blinks to stall the flow of tears she knows are coming while she waits for the waitress to give Emma a final staredown and a request to leave. 

She can’t do this.

“Excuse me.”

It’s not the voice she expected, as she glances up to catch the eye of one of the men who’d careened into the diner and ruined perhaps her only chance of having a warm night. He’s tall, with wide set shoulders and a heavy gaze, hair cut short but curling a bit around his ears as though he’s let it go a bit too long without a trim, and she can detect a hint of an accent as he towers over them both.

“Look, I get that New Years Eve is all about revelry and drunkeness or whatever, but I was here first and he’s only crying because your friends are the loudest human beings on the planet and-.”

She means to go on, but he blinks rapidly and then settles into a warm smile. “You mistake me. I only meant to see if you needed some help with the lad.”

“What.”

Henry is still screaming in her ear, and the man before her is still watching her in earnest amusement as she tries to remember if she’d called him something rude in her tirade. 

“You seem like you could use some help.”

She’s at a loss for words, but the tears are threatening to make a reappearance and she stares dumbly up at him for a moment until he nods his head firmly and turns his head. “Oi! Little brother! Tell your friends to shut their damn mouths and come over here a second!”

Her son hiccups, and for the tiniest moment Emma thinks she might have a reprieve, but a moment later he starts up again, even as another man cuffs his neighbor around the ear and slides up out of the booth. The men lower their voices all the same, and Emma watches as the mans brother shuffles across the diner. They have the same blue eyes, the same jawline, but this one has a riot of unkempt dark hair and just a hint of stubble. 

When he finally makes it to stand beside his brother, his brow knits and he makes a careful point of holding her gaze. “Apologies, lass. I’ll make sure those idiots keep quiet. We didn’t mean to disturb you.” Definitely an accent. British, probably. 

The other man rolls his eyes. “Wonderful. Now work your baby magic and let the woman have a moment of peace.”

Emma can’t help the way her hold tightens on Henry, who just screams against her neck. 

“Killian’s got a knack with babies. Five seconds in his presence and they all have stars in their eyes.”

Eventually she realizes that she’s said all of one confused word to him since he started speaking. “No offense, but why would I just hand off my kid to a strange man I’ve never met? I’m not saying you seem like ax murderers, but you kinda seem like charming ax murderers. With accents. I bet that makes it easier to lure people in. To ax murder them.”

The older of the two barks out a surprised laugh. “Liam Jones, at your service. And my little brother, Killian.”

“Younger,” the dark haired one grumbles. “Younger brother.”

“I teach at the academy. Killian and his fellow idiots are plebes there. If you’d like, I’m sure I can call up a few stellar references, even at this hour. I could give you a credit card to hold on to.”

Henry is still sobbing against her, and Liam and Killian Jones are watching her stare them down with earnest expressions on their face, and she shouldn’t, she shouldn’t, but the thought of a magic touch to make Henry calm down is so wonderful she can barely think straight.

“Okay yeah. Sure.”

Killian smiles, such a sweet, dorky look on his face that Emma feels her heart warm, and she lets him curl an arm around Henry, lifting him free of Emma’s arms and leaving her with a soggy neck and a ringing in her ears.

And just like magic, half a minute later Henry’s sobs quiet down to light whimpers and then fade almost entirely away while Emma stares numbly at them. 

“How the hell-?”

The man - Killian Jones - darts a glance up at her. “No idea. This is a newly acquired gift, I think. Started with my nephew a few years ago, but I’ve yet to meet a child immune to my charms.”

“Too bad it doesn’t work on women quite the same,” Liam jokes, and she watches as the two men share a look. “If it’s alright, I’ll just send Killian’s food over here?”

She meets Killian’s strangely eager gaze and feels the desperate urge to grab her son and run. 

But it’s twelve degrees outside, Henry is quiet, and something about the questioning in Jones’ very blue eyes settles her nerves. She shrugs, and waits for Liam to wander off back to the group before she levels Killian with her most intimidating stare. “Is this a thing you two do? Lure unsuspecting women with promises of quiet children?”

He sputters, like the thought had never entered his mind. She is instantly charmed by the way he stumbles out a response. “No, I’d never - not that you’re not an attractive woman, you’re a very attractive - not that I’d noticed before, but you... Oh bloody hell.”

The small laugh that escapes her makes his ears turn an adorable shade of red. “Your brother wasn’t joking about your luck with the ladies.”

His cheeks flush pink under the harsh lighting. “I’m afraid that holds a grain of truth.”

“I’m Emma, by the way.” He takes in the name like it’s a glorious gift, and she has to take a deep breath to keep herself from swaying into his orbit.

When his food comes, his attempts to juggle Henry are hilariously adorable, and she finally lets him off the hook, grinning across at him as she holds out her arms to take her son back. He’s spent the time alternating between humming some tune low in his throat and asking her questions about nothing but her son as though he’s placed some sort of embargo on asking about her, and he swallows heavily once Henry is settled quietly beside her.

“I suppose I should -,” he starts, but Emma cuts across him.

“You should probably stay. Just in case Henry decides he isn’t done quite yet.”

His smile is wide, his eyes catching hers before he darts them down almost bashfully. “Of course. For the lads sake.”

She asks him about Annapolis, about his friends, about the accent (”I was born here. Lived in London with Liam for a decade after our father left. The accent sort of stuck.”), about anything she can think of to stall him asking about her. About Henry, and the growling stomach she is refusing to acknowledge with the plate of warm food just across from her - about what the hell she’s doing in a diner at 11:30 at night on New Years Eve. He’s an orphan, like her, and something inside of her keens at the idea of it, but inevitably her thoughts drift to Neal. She’s been burned by shared experience enough by now.

He notices the growling, but despite his utter lack of suaveness he doesn’t make a big deal of it. “Is it too terribly much to ask you to help me finish this? I’ll never eat this whole bloody plate.”

Usually her pride would force a denial, but he’s so fucking earnest as he blinks across at her that she steals half the fries off his plate and takes the untouched half of his sandwich. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Killian,” she tells him when she’d sure he’s got too much food in his mouth to properly respond (he eats like a madman, like every bite is his last meal on earth, and god does she get that), “But I’m really glad you have no game and you’re not counting down with some girl hoping for a kiss at midnight.”

He chews, swallows, watches her with careful eyes while he swigs down the glass of milk in front of him. “Happy to be of service,” he finally tells her, and they smile at each other like idiots for a second. 

Killian lobs a fork at his friends across the room when they start the midnight countdown (at thirty, no less) - and they all finish in hushed whispers.

Emma presses a kiss to Henry’s forehead as they hit a stage whispered “Happy New Years!”, and clinks her refilled hot chocolate (Killian had insisted) against his glass of milk. His friends are all swigging from a flask, even his brother partaking, and Emma makes note of the stern glance he sends their way.

“What, no drink to bring in the new year?”

“It’s rum. I hate the stuff.”

“Pity. It’s my favorite.”

The look he shoots her way makes her heart flutter against her ribcage - like he’s taking careful note of that tiny tidbit of information she’s accidentally revealed.

It’s nearing four before Liam begins to gather the still-drunk group, and Emma feels a strange sense of loss as he nears her table, her eyes taking in the long line of Killian’s neck and the exuberant hand gestures he’s making as he tells her a story. 

“We need to get these drunken fools home before they decide to turn coat and steal a ship of the fleet. Starkey won’t shut up about this pirate business. How on earth he got a senator to sponsor him is beyond me.”

“I’ll be just a moment.”

Liam shoots his brother an indiscernible look, but eventually shrugs it off. “It was nice to meet you,” he tells Emma, and just like that, he’s gone again, striding across the diner to wrangle one of the men out of his seat where he seems to have gotten stuck.

She stands as Killian does, and he shoots a soft look at Henry, fast asleep, before he reaches forward like he means to grasp her hand. Emma presses forward at the same time, his arm trapped between them as she leans up on tiptoes to wrap him in a hug.

His free hand brushes inexpertly across her back, his breath fanning out against her hair in a huff of surprise, and she lingers there for a good minute before she finally loosens her hold on him.

“Thank you.” She tells him, enamored by the way his entire face has gone pink. “I just...” she stumbles over the words, over how to properly explain to him what his company has done for her, what his quiet singing voice and his enthusiastic stories have given her tonight. Words can’t grasp it. “You’re kind of my hero,” she finally decides upon, mentally groaning even as it leaves her mouth. 

He swallows. “If you are ever in need of a baby whisperer, I hope you’ll acquire my services once more.”

Her smile is probably a bit watery. “I doubt we’ll be in town much longer, but I’ll hold you to that. You never know, maybe we’ll run into each other again.”

The way only one corner of his mouth tilts up makes her want to drag him back into her and never let him go. “Not a day will go by I don’t hope so.”

She watches him gather his things, grins at him as his friends all jostle him towards the door, and watches them all stumble out into the early morning. 

She’d be lying if she said she didn’t catch the way he looks back at her as the door swing shut behind him.

She’d be lying even more if she said she didn’t look him up the next day when she finds two fifties stuffed into the folds of Henry’s diaper bag.

She doesn’t bother to lie to herself when she drives out of Maryland a week later - she wishes she had it in her stay behind just for one more glimpse of him.


End file.
